A Reason To Live
by Arteme
Summary: With his dying words he told her to live. Breathing, but not truly alive she lets reality wash past her, until she meets a little boy, who might turn out to be her savior. [SorataArashi]
1. Memories of You

A Reason To Live

::Prologue::

_**Memories of You**_

Rain fell upon the city of Tokyo. Fourteen years after the entire incident, there was no sign of the events that had unfolded upon these worn and tired streets. Slowly the environment was dying, but it didn't matter. It was just a rainy April day on the streets of Tokyo, and to Arashi Kishuu it seemed as if every couple in the world was out today. Holding hands in beautiful bliss. She tried to suppress the bitter thoughts, but one escaped. Could these innocents truly understand what love was?

She still remembered him. With every breath she thought of him. Of his smile. Of his words. Of his death. She remembered his eyes, so full of life and yet slightly melancholy. She remembered everything about him. Memories that were so precious. She would never see him again, so she treasured the memories.

Live on, he had said. That was the only part she had resented. Hadn't he realized how much he meant to her? With his death, she had lost all meaning for life. Hadn't he realized how cruel he was, to leave her stranded alone in this lonely life without him? Of course not. He had always been so very selfless. He had always been so kind. He would never stop to think of her pain. As long as she was alive, he hadn't given a thought to what happened to him. That was part of the reason she loved him.

She would have done anything. She had done many things, some of them painful, all of them unpleasant. All of it had been done for him, but he was unable to understand the selflessness of others. In a way it was amusing, but at the same time it hurt. She had wanted to follow him in death, but that would have made his death in vain. So she lived. Anything at all, for him.

Still, after fourteen years of loneliness she was beginning to long to join him in death. She wanted to die, but she wouldn't. She had promised him that she would live, and she intended to live. She would live for him, for the both them, and for the happiness that they would never be able to obtain in this life. Someday she would die, as all living things do, but until then, she would live.

It was her daily litany. Her daily prayer. She clutched the umbrella between her fingers as she stared at the loving couples sadly. She had wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She wanted to make him happy. She had wanted to…

Lost in thought, she didn't notice when she bumped into the boy. Still lost in thought, she had barely managed to utter a cursory apology before she did a double take.

Sorata?

* * *

::Discalimer::

X, or X/1999 is not mine. If it was, Sorata wouldn't die.

::Author's Note::

I know this is very short, but here's my first attempt at a Sorata/Arashi fic. I love this pairing. Okay, I'm not sure if Sorata dies in the manga, but he dies in the anime, and so I decided to write a fic about Arashi's life after Sorata's death, and you should know, it is Sorata/Arashi.

Please review if you have the time. I would appreciate feedback on this short chapter.


	2. Something Familiar

A Reason To Live

::Chapter One::

**_Something Familiar_**

Her breath caught in her throat as she looked into the slightly bewildered eyes of a boy that was about twelve years old. They were clear gray eyes, quite unlike Sorata's brown ones. His hair was slightly mussed, just like Sorata's hair had always been in a slight state of disorganization, but this child's hair was a light brown that made him look almost like a foreigner. Arashi smiled inwardly. She was starting to become delusional. She sternly told herself to stop thinking about Sorata so much. He wouldn't want it. He would want he to be getting on with her life. _He _was_ my life_! Part of herself screamed, the part that she didn't show to the world very often. The part that felt emotions so strongly it hurt. The cold, rational part of herself pushed the screaming voice to the back of her mind and turned her attention to the young boy.

She almost laughed when she realized that he was trying to pick her pocket. Almost instinctively she reached down and grabbed his skinny arm. "And what do you think you're doing?" She asked, a hint of suppressed laughter in her voice.

Gray eyes glared up at her from under thick brows. "I'm not doin' anything wrong!"

Raising an eyebrow slightly she looked questioningly from his hand, which was "innocently" inside her purse, to his indignant face. "Indeed? Where are your parents?"

He glared at her. "Get offa me!"

Still slightly amused she removed his hand from her purse. For some reason this child had chased away all of her dark thoughts. A feeling she couldn't describe had settled upon her. It was a feeling that she had felt often when she was with Sorata, a kind of "lightness" that made her say and do things she wouldn't normally do. That's how this child was making her feel, albeit in a different way. "I'll gladly relinquish my hold on your arm when you tell me where your parents are. I am not letting you go off alone to rob another hapless person."

His glare intensified, and then he snorted derisively. "I don't have any parents. I don't need any either. Just let me go."

Up until then she hadn't realized the poor state of his clothes. They hung off his emaciated frame like draperies. His overlarge tee-shirt was threadbare, his pants stained, and his face covered in dirt. Something about him struck a cord of sympathy within her. She remembered sitting there, long ago, wondering the reason for living. Somehow, she suddenly wanted to save this boy form the loneliness of the streets.

With less emotion than a cold winter morning she grabbed his hand and dragged him out of the middle of the sidewalk. She ignored his squirming and his protests until she cornered him.

"What is your name?" She asked, trying to sound polite.

He glared at her sullenly. "What are you, some child molester? I ain't tellin' you!"

She glared at him. Difficult, and stubborn. A little like Sorata. This boy was the kind of person that would do what he wanted, regardless of anyone else. In that second she felt foolish. This boy was not Sorata. This boy was not even similar to him, except for the stubbornness. Still, something about him resonated to something deep within her. For so long she had felt nothing. She had frozen her emotions with his death. This little boy had dropped them. Slowly she felt the ice returning to her heart. "I am no child molester. Tell me your name, please," she said in a forced whisper.

He glared at her. "I don't need ta tell ya anything!" He muttered with a sullen glare in her direction.

The barrier returned again. "You're right. You do not need to tell me a thing." With that she turned and began to walk down the empty street, still clutching the slick umbrella between her fingers as her heart became even icier than before.

* * *

Disclaimer: X/1999 is not mine. Reviews: 

**KuramaMyBeautifulRoseBoy**: Ah, I love X/1999, and Sorata/Arashi ("Sorashi"?) is one of my favorite pairings of all times. I hope to do it justice.

**carlos21**: Thank you so much for the positive feedback. I wasn't sure how it would turn out, and I'll try to update soon!

**Kagemihari**: I cried when he died in the anime, and I harbor this secret hope that in the manga CLAMP will decide to let him live, but I doubt it. sobs

Author's note: If spell check had it's way Sorata would be Sonata and Arashi would be Rashid shivers Anyway, once again, I'm trying to make the chapters longer, so it's going to take a while to update. Please review this one in the meantime.


	3. Rain and the Clearing Sky

A Reason To Live  
  
::Chapter Two::  
  
**_Rain and the Clearing Sky_**  
  
She wasn't really paying attention to where she was going. The rain seemed to pour even harder than before. The "lightness" that she had been infused with earlier was now gone, leaving her feeling dark and empty. That boy had been right. She had no right to his name. No matter how much he reminded her of him, that little boy wasn't him, but dear gods how she had wanted to see that arrogant child smile. So like Sorata, but so different as well. She should have realized it by now. He wasn't ever coming back.  
  
Wandering through the city she wasn't quite sure where she was going. She was merely wandering, trying to find something, anything, that she could sling to.  
  
Because he wasn't coming back.  
  
She stopped, breathless, as she finally comprehended where she was standing. It was a glade, secluded from the rest of smog-covered Tokyo. The air seemed to be both clearer and cleaner here, as well it should. This was a sacred place.  
  
The grave looked rather old and untended. To her it was an open wound. It was a small graving, lacking in decoration. Only a simple tombstone, because that was all he would have wanted. He didn't need a blatant reminder of the life that he had so recklessly through away. It was enough that she would remember. It was enough that she would hold his death dear to her heart forever.  
  
Inscribed simply on the stone was a singly phrase accompanied by a singles name.  
  
** Arisugawa Sorata  
REQUIESCAT IN PACE  
**  
It sill hurt to go there, and now, in the rain, she could let her barriers down and cry.  
  
She tried to make them stop, but they wouldn't. Once a month she came, and every time she would weep. It was the only thing she could do for Sorata now.  
  
Huddled on the ground in the rain she couldn't top crying. It wasn't until she felt the eyes on her back.  
  
In an instant she sorrow was locked away, and the tears eased. There was a time for mourning, and it was a time alone. Now, in the presence of other, action was called for. Now it was time to once again raise an icy façade and pretend that she didn't feel pain inside herself.  
  
She hated the feeling of eyes on her back. It reminded her of back then. Back then, where they could trust no thing and no one. Back then, when they were always running. Back then, when all she could ever do was hide from them. When everything was dark and bloodied, full of rage and terror. The memories of that life were still vivid in this grew monotony. She could still smell the blood that had invaded her senses in that life. She could still recall the painful grief she felt as one by one the comrades fell. In those days, in that life, they had all lived in fear, ever- looking over their shoulders for the slightly tangible, every-vigilant, malignant watcher at the very edge of their vision.  
  
The days were no longer as dark and the smell of blood was long gone. Still, she could still feel the eyes on her back. Now, even now, she could still sense another's presence. It may just be the vestiges of her dark days, but she could feel eyes on her back, and that was all that mattered.  
  
Back then she would have played a waiting game with them, waiting for the first foolish move that would give away the game.  
  
She no longer had the patience for games.  
  
"Who are you? What do you want?" her voice came out shaky and slightly ragged. She had become impatient with playing psychological games. She let a slight, wry grin escape on to her features. "There's no point in hiding, just come out and tell me what you want."  
  
A slight muffled sound came from the other side of the grove. Then the bush began rustling and a rumpled boy, in glorious disarray, rolled out into the clearing, fear a stark expression on his young face. It took Arashi a second to recognize those hazed eyes. It was the boy from earlier that she had mistaken for Sorata.  
  
Taken aback, Arashi almost burst out in laughter. He looked so strange and out of place, a cheerful smile in a dark, depressing place haunted by such demons of the past. It was almost like Sorata's spirit had been reincarnated in this young boy. This is how he wanted her to be, happy and eternally smiling, like the young boy.  
  
"Yo," he said with a slight smile as the rain began to fade from a pouring torrent to an ever-so-slight pitter-patter of falling water droplets.  
  
On impulse she went over and threw her arms around the shocked boy. Tears were once again flowing freely down her face. Why did her remind her so strongly of Sorata?  
  
"Hey! What're you doin'! GERROFFA ME!" he demanded with a grimace. "Lemme go you crazy pedophile!"  
  
She suddenly pulled away from the boy, stunned by what she had just done. Suddenly she had been overcome with a desire to protect the smiling child. She pushed him away with a cool "I am sorry." Straightening her clothes she stood up calmly, now in control of herself. "Why did you follow me?"  
  
The boy averted his eyes as he stood up and straightened his clothes as well. He walked over and leaned against a oak tree non-chalantly looking everywhere but where she stood.  
  
"You know.." be bean slowly.  
  
The wind began whispering through the trees almost gently, lending a haunting air to the serene clearing. The rain began to pour once more, this time even harder. She urged him to go on mentally, waiting for him to finish in silence.  
  
"You know, I'm not sure why, but I just needed to talk to you. I needed to tell you something." He was still avoiding looking at her.  
  
"And that would be?"  
  
He turned to her suddenly and without preamble. "It's Hiro. My name, I mean, it's Hiroshi. I just felt as if you should know." He stoop there and waited for her expectantly. "Well?":  
  
"Well what?"  
  
"Are you going to tell me you name now? I told you mine. It's only fair" A hint of childish petulance came into his voice as he crossed his arms across his chest.  
  
She looked at him with a bemused expression. "I am Kishuu Arashi."  
  
He cocked his head to the side, eyes focusing on her. "Kishuu Arashi, "he rolled the name on his tongue. He said it as if it was a foreign word, tasting it for the first time, yet at the same time he said it with a kind of familiarity, as if it was a faint, ethereal memory that could almost, but not quite, grasp. Something in the way he said her name was strange. For a moment she wanted to smile at this young boy, but she didn't. Her smile was for one person and one person only. Instead she straightened her clothing again and began walking away.  
  
"Well" he said from behind her.  
  
Arashi turned to look at him. "Well what?"  
  
"you wanted to know my name."  
  
"I did."  
  
"So..."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Is that all?"  
  
She glanced at his now slightly sad, lonely face for a moment and then it occurred to her. With a slight smile she held out her hand. "No. It's not. We're both wet and cold. How about we go get some hot tea to warm up?"  
  
With and equally hesitant smile he took her hand. "I'd like that.,"

* * *

Author Note: This chapter took forever to write. It always kept coming out all wrong. By the way, "REQUIESCAT IN PACE" is Latin for "May he rest in peace." Anyway, I hope you enjoyed.  
  
Reviews:  
  
**KuramaMyBeautifulRoseBoy**: It's going to take a while, but they will get some love.  
  
**Goatfish**: I tried to make it longer without compromising the writing, but I'm not sure if I did it well enough...  
  
**Schwatze**: Ah my faithful friend, here is more good fanfiction-ness of mine for you to read!  
  
**Setsuna529**: I didn't know if anyone would find that funny or if they would just think it was stupid, but I'm glad you found it amusing!  
  
**Takako**: My computer died a while ago so I haven't been able to update, but at long last, here it is!


	4. Chance and Fate

A Reason To Live  
  
::Chapter Three::  
  
**_Chance and Fate_**  
  
They walked into the western-style café silently, both of them dripping all over the floor, but in light of the turn of events that didn't seem to matter all that much. Arashi made a gesture with her head for him to sit at a small round marble table flanked with two chairs, and sit he did. He pulled out the chair and flung his feet on the inlaid marble table with a kind of childish abandon. Arashi glanced around the little café, curious to see who had noticed his careless actions, but the rest of the café seemed oblivious, almost like mindless drones. It was, after all, a rainy day, and people were disinclined to move through the grey monotony with any amount of energy.  
  
Arashi and Hiro sat together, yet apart, in a silence that wasn't quite uncomfortable, but in a silence that wasn't quite comfortable either. They sat there, just like that, the hands of the ancient clock in the corner crawled by as the minute had slowly made the inevitable ticking noise...  
  
(_tick, tick, tick_)  
  
...both of them unsure of what to say, Arashi being taciturn by nature and Hiro being so swept away by the current events and foreign emotions that even _his _normally glib tongue was stilled. And still they sat, the silence growing thicker by the moment.  
  
"May I take your orders?" A bland female voice asked in a slightly bored tone.  
  
Both Arashi and Hiro started at that. At the same time two pairs of eyes, one deep brown and the other a pale grey, turned to stare at the bored looking woman. She was in her late thirties or early forties with a tired face and dressed in the maroon polo shirt and black slacks that constituted the uniform of the small café. On a small gold plate above the breast read a little nametag that said "Takuya Minako."  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Arashi asked the waitress with a slight frown.  
  
The woman smiled, an unpleased line as thin as a scar that curved viscously upwards, giving her face an altogether unpleasant expression. "May I take your orders?" She repeated in a slightly irritated tone.  
  
Arashi glanced at her with a blank expression devoid of the contempt she was inwardly feeling and then pulled out one of the menus which had been shoved haphazardly between the metal caddy containing salt and the like. Barely scanning it she tossed to Hiro as she turned back to the woman. "I'd like a cup of coffee, black, and a small garden salad. Italian dressing please."  
  
The waitress frantically scribbled down the order on her little note pad and then turned her dark eyes to Hiro, who sat with his hands to his side, kicking his feet that didn't _quite_ touch the ground with a kind of sullen boredom that only young boys can manage.  
  
Hiro, without losing the air of sullen boredom allowed a large and slightly malicious grin to slip on to his face. "Hey, Mina-chan, I want two tuna melts, four garden salads, a bowl of chili, six hotdogs and a hamburger. Oh yeah, and a Pepsi to drink. Got it, Mina-chan?"  
  
He watched with a sadistic kind of delight as the dour woman made a futile attempt to scribble down his large order with any kind of rapidity. Arashi eyed Hiro's slender frame with silent amusement. Hiro's broad (and slightly twisted) grin never faltered as he watched the woman's discomfort. Finally, with her task completed, the harried woman scurried off to the kitchen to place Hiro's large order.  
  
After "Mina-chan's" tiny form was out of earshot Hiro's plastered grin fell. It was replaced with a musing frown that didn't fit his youthful face and demeanor at all. He turned to Arashi with his large eyes, sensitive eyes, wondering how to phrase such a tender question. Words tumbled through his mind, and he was at a loss for words, which was to say much, for he was _rarely _at a loss for words. Finally he found a word that fit, a word that embodied all of his complicated questions so simply it almost seemed ludicrous.  
  
"Who?"  
  
Arashi, who had been meditating on the repercussions of her impulsive decision raised her eyes to his in question, a question Hiro fully expected. "Hm?"  
  
"Who was he?" _He_ not _that_. On some most base level Hiro understood that the persons grave had been a man's. It was some foundational intuition that led him to that belief. He decided to clarify, not because Arashi didn't understand what he was talking about, but because of a _need_ to talk, to fill the silence. Hiro hated silence. "Whose grave was that? The one you were crying over, I mean. Who was he?"  
  
Arashi closed her eyes with a slight grimace and spoke a single word. "Sorata."  
  
The name was whispered across the distance between the two, from the lips of one, spoken almost like a prayer, to the ears of another, where it was little more than a murmur of a forgotten breeze.  
  
"Sorata?" Hiro's gaze spoke volumes. 'Please elaborate' that raised eyebrow said. 'I don't quite understand' those expressive eyes implored.  
  
Arashi averted her gaze making a non-committal noise. Hiro decided not to press matters further. Instead, he asked another question.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Arashi smiled at this one. Why indeed? What was she supposed to say? _Because you remind me of the man I loved?_ But no, that wasn't quite right. He wasn't like Sorata at all, but then again he was. It just wasn't quite right. _Because we're alike in a dissimilar way?_ But that didn't fit either. A mixture of _both_? Just what exactly was one _supposed _to say? All of the above, yet at that same time _none_ of the above? That didn't fit _either!_ Arashi heaved a mental sigh and then opted for the most basic truth she could find.  
  
"I'm not quite sure why."  
  
Hiro eyed her warily. "Not quite sure?"  
  
"Yes, not quite sure. I'm not quite sure why I chose to do this. There was just something. I really don't know _how_ to describe it, or even if I _can_ describe it. It's something foreign, not destiny, not entirely, but-"  
  
"Chance. That's what I call it. In no way destined but 'right' all the same. Does that make sense?"  
  
Arashi mulled over that for a while. No, not quite "chance" either, but close to "chance" than "destiny." Arashi had gotten her fill of "destiny," most of it unpleasant.  
  
"Chance is close enough. So, Hiroshi-kun, what's your 'why'? Why did you come to tell me your name? Why did you take notice of me at all?  
  
Hiro looked at her and then down. His carefree demeanor and glib tongue seemed to disappear as he began to speak in halting, clipped tones. He grew old, much too old, to ever been mistaken as twelve, though twelve he was. He became someone else entirely, someone that Arashi understood the moment such a persona appeared. It was similar to her, very similar. It was the demeanor of someone who had lost everything that meant anything to them.  
  
His story started simply. "It was snowing that night..."

* * *

_It was snowing that night, in far-away America. Vermont, to be exact. Hiro and his "family" were just returning from a Christmas Eve full of cheer at joy at his "mother's" house. It was Christmas in Vermont, and the snow was beautiful indeed, a young boy's wish, in fact.  
  
A thin man with a graying beard sat being the wheel (his name was Rick O'Reilly, but that's irrelevant). He was slightly flushed, a moderate drinker, who, given time would become a heavy drinker, who, given time would become an alcoholic. The man was a bad drunk, but neither of the other two knew that. Neither of the other two had any idea that he might someday become a despicable, disgusting creature. Neither of the other two really had anything concerning the "future" on their minds at the time, neither did the man. Given time, if Chance willed, Destiny would change this man for the worst, but that wasn't important at the moment. In fact, this man's_ Destiny _wasn't important at all, because Chance was about to intervene. But at the moment, that wasn't important either, because right then and there the man was relaxed and happy, with his "family," and a little intoxicated, but come now, it was Christmas Eve.  
  
Beside the man sat a woman (whose name was Patricia, called Patty, and equally irrelevant), well into her late thirties (the same age as the man, her husband). She was a little plump right around the edges (but by no means fat). She was red cheeked and smiling with sparkling bright blue eyes. She was kind, and gentle, and completely unaware of the breast cancer that was lying dormant inside her. Given time, this will kill her after months of chemotherapy and years of agony and pain. Such was her Destiny, but Chance was about to intervene on_ that _too. Right now, though, then and there, it wasn't important, because it was Christmas Eve, she was with her "family" and there was nothing wrong with her body at all. It was absolutely perfect.  
  
The boy sitting in the backseat of the car was young, seven years old to be exact. He wasn't blood-kin to the cheery couple driving the minivan. He wasn't a child of their loins, but he meant as much to them as any of their own children (if there had been any) would have. It was obvious that the child was not of their loins. He was half Japanese. Still, the couple loved him and he loved the couple. A foster family they may have been, but they were (in the truest sense) a real family bound together through trust and love, if not blood. They were an ideal "family," unfortunately (as Arashi could have told them) anything in accordance with the definition of "ideal" seldom lasted very long.  
  
So, it was snowing that night, and heavily at that, but they were jovial, and it was Christmas Eve, and how could_ anything _go wrong on Christmas Eve, of all days and nights of the entire year? So, they were a little foolish and a little careless, but they were "good" people (though if you would have asked the woman in about five years about her husband "good" would not have been included in such a description). But anyway, they were "good" people, and, of course, good people don't die in car accidents, no way in Heaven or Hell. "Good" people deserve to live, and go on living until the Lord (who was very "good") took their mortal souls unto His holy bosom when they were old and tired and generally ready to die. "Good" people died of old age and in their sleep with a happy smile on their faces, and they most_ certainly _don't die in a ditch on the side of a road amongst flames and twisted metal. "Good" people don't go to Heaven via a broken neck or shattered rib cage. Nasty things like that never happen to "good" people. It's an absurd to think that this even has the possibility to happen._ Everyone _knows that "good" people never die young._ Everyone _knows that "good" people never die in pain._ Everyone _knows that "good" people don't die screaming._ Everyone _knows that. It's simple, common knowledge even._ Everyone _knows, with the exception of Chance.  
  
Many people have cursed Chance, calling it plague. Simultaneously people have blessed chance, calling it luck. People are foolish though, with both their curses and blessings. Chance does not discriminate. Chance cares not about gender, race, age, marital status, health, beauty, intelligence, sexual preference, religion, or anything else that might cause prejudice in the mind of a human. Chance does not believe in "right," nor does it believe in "wrong." Chance only does what it goes, best, it plays with the souls of humans without mercy or malice. It grants to one either luck or plague, and despite what Everyone says Chance couldn't give a rat's ass about whether or not the people on the other end of misfortune are "good" (nor does Chance care if those on the other end of prosperity are "bad"). Of course, Chance isn't the_ only _factor that decides the course of action. Fate had reared his ugly head in this little matter as well.  
  
Fate dictates the victims of Chance, and Fate had just happened to dictate that this time around it would be the "good" people that got royally screwed.  
  
So, they were driving and singing as a classic "I'll be home for Christmas" blared out from the old radio, full of static but jubilant none-the less. It was only at the loudest point that the static became unbearable and Mrs. O'Reilly, the boy's "mother," had to reach out and turn the dial down as one of her hands went to her head and massaged her right temple. So they were singing, and a bit oblivious, especially good ol' Rick, and that's when Chance decided to have a bit of fun.___

* * *

At this point in the story Hiro took a pause, his young/old face drawn tight. Arashi noticed his hands shaking as he reached to take a sip of his Pepsi.  
  
"You don't have to..." Arashi began.  
  
"Oh but I do." Hiro looked at her with eyes much too old and wise for his age, for his face, a face so youthful it was almost shocking. "You see, this is _Fate_." The cynical tone surprised Arashi, but looking at him she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised. No, not a copy of Sorata. Not in the slightest.  
  
He took a deep breath before he began the second, the final, leg of his story, the part that caused his intelligent grey eyes to fill with tears that remained unshed. "I was happily oblivious, as most children are. I certainly didn't expect what happened next..."

* * *

_He hadn't expected what happened next, but victims of auto accidents seldom do.  
  
If someone had told him that on Christmas Eve he would loose everything that he held dear he would have looked at them blankly with the full force of a bland, childish, drooling innocence. The accident changed all that. It was (as he would say in later years) like "waking up." The "what" he was "waking up" to could come after, long after the trauma had passed, but right then (and there) he was about the be rather rudely awakened. The wake up call came in the form of something commonly called "black ice."  
  
He had been staring at a deep ditch along the side of the road. It was deep, like a bottomless chasm. Of course his child's mind did not use those words (the thought was more similar to "big black hole" than anything) but still, the concept was still there. Back then his mind couldn't comprehend much. His mind certainly didn't make the connection between the alarming rate which the abyss was growing closer and the panicked screech of tires on pavement. He didn't feel the car tip, and he didn't noticed his "father's" distress. Rick, in his distress, actually let go of the wheel, causing the car to slide into the ditch with disturbing momentum. The car hit the ground of the deceptively shallow ditch with the loud sound of metal grinding together.  
  
Time literally did seem to stand still...  
  
...and then...  
  
There was death.  
  
...and then...  
  
The young boy "woke up."  
_

* * *

"They buried them in a small American cemetery and I was set back to Japan. We thought the man would make it but he didn't. The woman died straight off the bat. It was a small funeral, closed casket, of course, and that's all I'm going to say about their deaths. It wasn't pretty, and I really don't want to think about it. Anyway I ended up back here. I was supposed to stay with my relatives, but when I got to the airport they weren't there. So I made my own way. I live in a vacant house. That's me. That's the game Chance has played with me. It needed to be told though, it really did."  
  
Arashi noticed how Hiro had called his "parents" not by "mother" and "father" but merely "the man" and "the woman." _He's trying to forget_, she thought, and knew it to be true. He was trying to forget the whole incident. She knew the feeling. She had done a similar thing during the time after Sorata's death. It was futile. No matter how hard you tried the ones who were dear to you always remained in your memories. "So that's why you didn't give a last name."  
  
Hiroshi looked up in surprise, his dark grey eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "Yeah, you're right. I don't have a last name really anymore."  
  
Arashi was silent for a moment. "Why do you keep on living?"  
  
His usual slightly reckless smile returned and the unshed tears became true tears, rolling down his face in two thin rivulets. "To spite Chance, why else? My life got ruined, but that's no reason to die. I'd rather live."  
  
She considered this, then nodded. "You're dry now, right?"  
  
He eyed her suspiciously. "Yeah, why?"  
  
She ignored his question. "You're done eating, right?"  
  
The suspicious look in his eyes grew even more. "Yeah. I'm stuffed."  
  
Arashi threw some money on the table and got up, grabbing her umbrella. "Then get up. You're coming with me, okay?" She was being impulsive again, and she knew it, but somehow this seemed _right_.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Exactly what I just said. You're coming with me, how does that sound, Kishuu Hiroshi?"  
  
At that moment Chance struck again (or perhaps this time it was Fate) and Hiro stood up and gave Arashi a brotherly hug. "Sounds great, nee-chan."

* * *

Author note

Several things. I made it a western style café because I didn't want to try to mess with Japanese culture. This chapter took me forever to write. Arashi and Hiro have a sister/brother relationship, nothing else. Never fear, the Sorata/Arashi stuff is coming soon. Also, I've come to realise just how hard Arashi is to write because she's so engimatic. Sorry for any mistakes/typos/OOC-ness, whatever.  
  
Reviews  
  
**Violet Dreams**: Thank you very much for the review. Sorata/Arashi is one of my favorite pairings as well. I hope you enjoy the update.

**Takako san**: I know how I'm going to end this, and the end is coming soon (but not too soon). Thanks for the compliments!

**screw making up random names**: Lazy of you...anyway, thanks for the review, as always.

**Chibi-Hotaru**: Thank you very much!

**Liviania**: phew, I avoided melodrama. That's always good. I feel terrible for poor Arashi. After Sorata left her life must have just been to bland, but all's well that ends well (just hope that I end it well).

**Arisugawa Sorata**: I love X, and I'm glad you like my writing!  
  
I really suck at review responses...sorry.


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